I didn't mean to churn out a sequel, honest! It's just that
Ryan gave me an idea too good to pass up on, and I just couldn't help it! This
will be the end, I swear!
Grateful thanks to Ryan Ledgerwood for the idea, and to Maggie the Cat for reminding
me about Bulbasaur. Also millions of thanks to everyone for their wonderful
feedback (love you lots! :) ), and hundreds of apologies for the bad line-breaks
before. Horrible computer, careless me, bad combination. Forgive me? :)

He took off his glasses, squeaked them clean, then put them back on. No change.

He rummaged to the bottom of the pile, but it was confirmed. They were all
horribly, identically, repugnantly alike.

Low-fat Twinkies.

Hank had gotten low-fat Twinkies.

Robert Drake, code-named "Iceman," better known as Bobby when he
was running around the mansion, better known as "YOU'RE DEAD!"
when somebody was running after him around the mansion clutching a butcher's
knife ... had gotten Hank low-fat Twinkies.

That was just plain evil. Twinkies were not meant to be low-fat. They were
meant to be sinfully junk-food-ish. They were meant to be something a mother
wouldn't give her child for breakfast on a regular basis. Stars and garters,
if he had wanted something that was healthy and low-fat, he would have
stored carrots in his food cupboard instead.

Of course, that would probably gain him some very odd looks from the others,
seeing a huge furry blue creature munching on a crunchy orange carrot. Nibbling
on it like there was no tomorrow. It would look like something from the Muppet
Show and Bugs Bunny combined.

Bobby would pay for this, of course. It was only natural.

Evidently this was the man's way of getting back at Hank for the Pokemon wallpaper
on Bobby's computer. Bobby had begged Kitty to get rid of it, but after the
last time he'd tricked her into singing "Obladi Oblada" at the top
of her voice when she'd gotten drunk at Harry's, she was quite satisfied to
see him go mad from the "pika pika" noises emanating from the computer.
In fact, she even intensified it. There was no way Bobby could switch on the
computer without being barraged by the saccharine voices, and worse yet, Kitty
had fixed it so that there was nothing - absolutely nothing - he could
do to alter the display screen or the sounds. He was virtually confronted by
hundreds of grinning Pikachus and scowling Bulbasaurs everytime he tried to
check his e-mail.

Bobby had eventually taken to sleeping on the living room sofa because of the
ensuing nightmares.

Hank closed the box in distaste and shoved it aside. Pity Bobby? Why no, why
should he pity Bobby? The man had gotten him five large boxes of low-fat Twinkies!
He hadn't even had the decency to insert a few Crunch bars here and there. "You
see, they'll last for a very long time," Bobby had left behind in
a note, "so you might as well snack healthily while you're at it. See what
a caring friend I am?"

Monstrous.

Besides, Hank had tasted one, and it was yucky.

He tapped his chin and paced the lab, thinking. What to do, what to do...

The revving sound coming from Bobby's new car outside instantly gave him the
answer.

"Please, Ororo? Just bring him out for the day, take him quite a good
distance away from the mansion. Preferably on something that would antagonize
him ... like plant-shopping."

"Henry, are you implying that my purchasing plants for my greenhouse is
boring?"

"Why, no, Ororo, of course not. It's just that Bobby does. Personally,
I find your quest for the most exquisite flora highly engaging..."

"Henry, really, you and Robert can do whatever you want to each other,
but please leave me out of it -"

"Pleeaaase? That way you can also get back at him for what he said about
your hair."

"...What did he say about my hair?"

"Oh, it's nothing, really, he was just making a light joke. Nothing serious
-"

"What did he say?"

"Well ... just that you should try out some really nice hair colorants
in the shade of mahogany or cornflower. He's of the opinion that Loreal would
be a very good brand to use. He appears to think that white ... well ... has
quite an aging effect on one so young as yourself."

"...On the other hand, I'm sure Robert would benefit greatly from accompanying
me on a good long plant quest..."

"Oh, I'm taking it to Bobby's room. You see, he was a very bad boy, so
this is payback. Mmff ... I have to work fast, however, considering I only have
slightly less than a day to complete the task."

"...Carry on, then."

Bobby Drake was not a very happy man when he finally came home that evening.
In fact, he was thoroughly miserable.

Well, it wasn't exactly possible to be happy when your arms are aching from
carrying so much garden material all day. And everytime he tried to protest
to Ororo, suggesting that maybe a shopping cart - or a truck - would be useful,
she just looked at him very sweetly and said, "But my dear Robert,
my plants require delicate handling. Surely a man as young and strong as yourself
is capable of supplying that? After all, I am a gentle, aging woman with
white hair."

Needless to say, Bobby had kept his mouth shut and proceeded to suffer in silence.

Who could've told her that? Definitely the work of Hank. Or Remy. Or Rogue.
Or even Logan -- that Canucklehead could be extremely devious sometimes, especially
whenever his cigars got replaced by trick exploding ones. Bobby had learned
a very valuable lesson the last time he'd done that. He now gave a yawn and
a groan at the same time, stretching himself and hearing a vertebra pop. What
I need now is a good long rest, he thought wearily as he turned the doorknob,
entering his room. And I don't care if those Pokemons still inhabit my computer,
I want my bed -

He froze.

His car was in his room.

His car, his brand new car, shiny and intact, gleamed happily at him as if
to say, "Welcome back!"

His bed, in turn, looked extremely rumpled and annoyed that its space was being
crowded by the selfish white Saturn.

Bobby immediately glanced at the doorway, then at the vehicle. No, definitely
not big enough. Even if the car had gone on a seven-month diet plan, it still
wouldn't have fit through the door. Bobby rubbed his eyes, knocked the car's
hood, even pinched himself to see if it was all an illusion. No such luck.

Just then a tiny note flapped at him from underneath the Saturn's windshield
wiper. At first Bobby thought it was a parking ticket left over from yesterday,
but as he neared it he recognized the writing. He quickly snatched it up and
read the words:

Dear Robert,

Since it appears that you adore your lovely new vehicle to such a great extent,
I have decided to allow you the pleasure of having it in your own room. Now
you can enjoy such delightful things with it in the privacy of your own space,
to express your love for such a darling object. It would be wise to show me
your gratitude -- disassembling the vehicle and then reassembling it in your
room is no mean feat, but luckily, I happen to know which part goes where.
Aren't you proud of me?

Your furry blue friend,
Hank

P.S. Perhaps this would be unnecessary, but I'd advise that you be very very
nice to all of us in future. How else are you going to get your Saturn out
of the room intact? Unless, of course, you try disassembling and reassembling
it outside yourself, but far be it from me to imply that you don't know which
part goes where...